


5 Times Max Falls Over

by sikeykins



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Strong Language, bc i believe that the cartoon happened after the ttg, happens before the cartoon, max hopelessly pines..., n theyre already married come the cartoon, n theyre already married come the cartoon....., some minor bullying??? some kids r mean 2 baby sam n max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sikeykins/pseuds/sikeykins
Summary: 5 times Max tries (and fails) to kiss Sam, and 1 time Sam actually succeeds.





	5 Times Max Falls Over

**Author's Note:**

> akjdfssdh this was super fun i love these guys so much okay anyways  
> special shout outs to jen (@adorableurchin on tumblr) for helping me write Incident 1 (that was her idea!) n berry (@strawberrycola on tumblr) for beta'ing :'3c ilygsm

 

**Incident 1: Eighth Grade End-Of-Year Dance**

               Max’s first attempt to kiss Sam is at some stupid middle school dance in that time area where spring melts into summer and the entire school’s buzzing with excitement over the end of school drawing closer and closer; fed into that excitement is the eighth graders own kind, excited over their upcoming graduation into ninth grade, high school.

               “Remember everyone,” Max twitches his ears as the voice over the loud speaker drawls on, “The end of the year summer dance for eighth graders only is in two more weeks. Buy your tickets and bring your dates!”

               Max eyes wander over to Sam, whose scribbling down some work on his bell work as fast as he possibly can before class starts up and the announcements are over. Max leans over, earning a huff from Sam, “I haven’t finished, Max, I’ll let you copy my answers in a minute!”

               Max’s ears flush, “I’m _appalled_ you’d even suggest such a scandalous deed! I’m a brilliant student, Sam.”

               Sam doesn’t even bother with a response, merely rolling his eyes and continuing to work out the problems; Max uses that silence to his advantage, “Hey, you’re coming to the dance with me, right?”

               “Yeah,” Sam pauses for a moment, his eyes wandering elsewhere, “I’ll pick you up and stuff. My moms have already bought our tickets.”

               “Oh, cool, thanks!” Max says, pretending he doesn’t notice that Sam’s eyeballing the same girl Sam’s been admiring for a good few weeks now, ever since the dance was announced. He pretends he _doesn’t_ feel a weird knot in his stomach and an odd urge to scream in Sam’s face, _Look at me! Look at me!_

***

               The hallway buzzes with excitement and motion as prepubescent kids scramble about, attempting to ask out anyone they can get their grubby hands on for a date to the dance as it approaches even faster than the inevitability of puberty. Max watches idly as the children race and buzz about, gossiping about who’s going with who, and who’s still available, yadda yadda yadda.

               Max grins smugly as he watches the others panic over the dance; he’s _already_ got his date, Sam. Even if Max doesn’t ask him to go _out_ with him as a _romantic_ date, it’s still a for-sure thing that Sam’s going with _Max_ and Max _alone_. It’s the nice thing about Sam – he never changes on Sam in a way that makes Max feel cruddy. Come push and shove, Max always has his buddy Sam to rely on, no matter what, through thick and thin. Sam has _always_ been there, and he _always_ will!

               Max always felt more comfortable around Sam; something about that guy made his stomach flutter with invisible insects and made his heart skip a beat and made his face feel warm. Max just felt _awesome_ around Sam, and he liked being around Sam – in fact, he wanted to be around Sam even more, if he could.

               After some chats with his more emotionally-in touch sibling, he realized that maybe he _did_ kind of have a big old crush on Sam.

               Which leads to this very moment right now: Max squeezing through the crowd, his location in mind not his class, but Sam’s locker. It’d be the perfect time to confess, wouldn’t it? Just go up to Sam and ask Sam if maybe they could still go together, but as a couple instead of best buddies!

               Max runs his tongue over his palm and slicks back his fur on his head, just between his ears, puffs out his chest, and struts towards Sam, ignoring the sideways glances from his local peers. As he approaches, Sam pulls his head out of his locker, his teeth shining in his own giddy grin that matches, if not surpasses, Max’s own.

               “Hey, what’s with the grin? I thought we agreed that was my thing!” Max crows, holding his hands behind his back, leaning into Sam’s personal bubble as much as he could.

               Sam’s grin turns sheepish, but doesn’t falter nonetheless, “Sorry, Max! It’s just – I’m really stoked about the upcoming dance! You know how it’s boys’ choice?”

               “I sure do, Sam.” _That’s kind of the reason I’m here right now_.

               “Well, I’m choosing someone I’ve had a crush on since 6th grade!” Sam beams, and Max’s ears perk up more than usual, because _that_ sure caught his attention, “And who, pray tell, might that be?”

               Hopefully Sam played the anticipation off as Max just being eager to know information.

               “Well, we’ve been in the same classes since elementary school.”

               “Yeah?” Max presses.

               “They are the cutest thing in the world!”

               “ _Yeaaah_?” Max drawls out in an attempt to encourage Sam to spill the beans, hopefully a bit faster.

               “I’ve wanted to confess to them for a while now, but I don’t want to come off too strong.” Sam trails off, and Max grins snidely, “With those jelly arms? I don’t think you have anything to worry about!”

               “You know, I even bought them flowers! I’m gonna ask ‘em after class, today!” Sam gestures to his locker, where a small bouquet of flowers is delicately placed on top of Sam’s books; Max groans as his subtle attempts to get Sam to let the cat out of the bag – he shouldn’t say _that_ phrase out loud – failed. Well, time to get physical, apparently. Max lurches forward and grabs hold of the part of Sam’s arms that he can reach – has he been getting taller? He’s totally getting taller – and shakes vigorously.

               “Aw, for the love of mike, Sam! Who’s the lucky kid? Tell me! Tell me!” Max all but hollers into the bustling hallway, and Sam shushes Max, though his little shush is broken by small giggling, “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you, but be quiet! I want it to be a surprise.”

               That’s odd – Sam’s acting as if it’s not Max. It should be, shouldn’t it?

               “It’s Chelsea Haynes.”

               Max’s stomach drops and he feels like he just ate too many corn dogs again and they’re all about to come up; Max’s grip slackens and his hands slide off, dangling limply at his sides as he replays the context that led up to “It’s Chelsea Haynes”, over and over and over again in his head. Why does he feel like his heart just dropped to his stomach and now he’s gonna puke it and all of his greasy, half frozen school lunch up?

               Sam’s picked up on that weird mood change apparently, even if Max’s grin hadn’t fallen off his face completely yet, and he cocks his head to the side, “Little buddy?”

               “Does that mean I’m gonna have to carpool with her too?” Max whines, hands on his hips, and Sam grins, “I’m afraid so, pal. But maybe I can get my mom to let you ride in the front seat!”

               That kind of makes up for it. Not really. It doesn’t at all.

***

               “You know, Sam, as much as your odd endeavors of the lovely romantic kind with girls disgust me, I’ve got to ask, how’d it go?” Max inquires on the very same hot afternoon, walking down the blistering sidewalk with Sam at his side; he’s not blind, he can very clearly see the bouquet of flowers Sam is still clutching – the very same that he was going to hand off to Chelsea Haynes.

               “Oh, ah, I went to go ask her, but I saw her talking to Donovan, so I,” Sam paused, squeezing the flowers close to his chest as he finally had the will to confess, “I chickened out.”

               “Oh, Sam!” Max calls out to the open sky, throwing his hands up to the air as if he’s just lost his life savings in a gambling ring, “Of _course_ you did! You’re a lost cause when it comes to romance.”

               “Hey!” Sam shoots back defensively, jutting out one hand to lightly punch Max’s shoulder, “I’m gonna ask her to dance with me _at_ the dance itself. I think that’ll be more romantic, don’t you? We slow dance, the music’s nice and quiet, the lightings perfect, I lean in, I have my first kiss. Just like the movies! Don’t you think that’ll be magical?”

               Max wrinkles his pink nose and opens his mouth, hovering his index finger into his open mouth, and starts making a gagging sound, mimicking the action of dry heaving.

***

               “Do you think this vest compliments my eyes?” Max pipes up as he and Sam walk up the steps to the middle school gymnasium where their dance was being held; Sam shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the tickets, handing them to the teacher in the door and entering, “You tell me all the time I’m the definition of a fashion disaster, why are you asking for my advice?”

               “Maybe I just want to be told I’m pretty sometimes, Sam.”

***

               The dance goes pretty smoothly, minus the fact Sam keeps talking about Chelsea Haynes, Chelsea Haynes, Chelsea _freakin’_ Haynes.

               _I’d like to Chel-see her go away_ , Max thinks resentfully to himself for a moment as he watches Sam nervously approach the popular girl. Max pads on over, hands clutched together behind his back as he lingers behind, remaining close by to give Sam silent emotional and moral support.

               “Hey, Chelsea,” Sam begins, wincing when his voice cracks, and Max can feel his own gut boiling with heat – he chalks it up to second hand embarrassment and not searing jealousy, “Do you, uhm, do you maybe want to have this dance?”

               Chelsea looks Sam over once, twice, before looking awkwardly to her friends; she grits her teeth, and Sam’s shoulders slump as his hopes sink. Chelsea’s voice comes out awkward and tense, “Gee, Sam, you’re a sweet boy, but -,”

               “No one wants to dance with someone like you.” One girl scoffs in a snotty way next to Chelsea, and Chelsea flinches at her friend’s cold, brunt way; Sam flinches too, because the softer rejection Chelsea had in mind would have probably been easier on him than this girl’s.

               “Plus, why would she want to dance with you when she’s got the cutest guy in school, right, Chelsea?” The girl giggles, nudging Chelsea’s shoulder, and the rest of the group of girls snicker in that scornful, unnecessarily mean way that makes Sam feel even worse. Chelsea pipes up apologetically, softly, “Sorry, Sam.”

               “Hey, Donovan!” One of the girls calls to another group of boys, who then begin to approach, and Max immediately goes on the defense, “Sam over here is making moves on your girlfriend!”

               “What - ? No, no, I swear I wasn’t!” Sam stutters out in panic as the group of boys approach, “I didn’t know - ,” and then Max practically rolls in and strikes a fighting pose in front of Sam. He’s two feet of pure, unbridled, protective rage, “If you wanna bully Sam on this night, the most special night of his sad, sad life, then you’re gonna have to go through me!”

               “You’re like, five inches tall, and I can name a whole bunch of reasons why I could crush you right now.” Donovan snorts, leaning forward and flicking Max on his nose; Max pauses, stunned for a moment, staring up at Donovan and the rest of the boys, and Sam bites his lip in anticipation of what Max’s next move is.

               And then Max lurches forward and sinks his teeth into Donovan’s fleshy hand.

***

               “Hey, who needs that stupid dance anyways, huh, Sam? They don’t know how to throw a _real_ party, not like yours truly!” Max declares from where he sits on the concrete steps of Sam’s back porch, trying in a futile attempt to get Sam to say something, _anything_ , since they got kicked out of the dance; he hasn’t said anything since the drive home. It’s weird to have to deal with Sam so quiet.

               “You know, we never go to dances, anyways, Sam. Wouldn’t you rather play video games with me then dance with mean people?” Max prods a bit, and there’s only a dog like whine of a response that he gets. Max’s ears droop, and he slumps, hitting a roadblock of what to do now.

               “Sam, you’re my best friend, you know?” Max pipes up after a moment, straightening up, “I couldn’t ask for a better one.” He extends one hand and awkwardly places it on one of Sam’s hands, and Sam straightens up as well, glancing at Max with intrigue. Max continues on with whatever silly monologue he was improvising currently, “Don’t let this go _straight_ to your ego, Sam, but you’re a very dashing guy. The most handsome, and,” Max wrinkles up his nose with disgust as he whispers out, “I kind of actually like those awful puns you make.”

               “ _Really_?” Sam’s voice lifts and sounds much brighter than it has been, and his entire body seems to perk up, his teeth flashing in a wide grin, and Max shudders, “ _Yes_ , really. I was surprised too!” Sam breathes out a noise vaguely close to a laugh that makes Max’s stomach twist and his own heart skip a beat; it’s good to have Sam happy and grinning and smiling like an absolute dorky loser again. Because hey, Sam’s _his_ dorky loser.

               “Sam,” Max’s voice goes uncharacteristically hushed as he leans forward, and Sam watches him curiously, “What is it?”

               Max doesn’t say anything else, praying that Sam just _gets the hint_ as he leans forward a bit more; Sam opens his mouth again, “Hey, Max, can I ask you something?”

 _Shhh just give me this moment please,_ Max thinks quietly, still leaning forward; he only stops and lurches backwards when sudden warm amber-yellow light floods the dark backyard. Sam’s mother stands in the door way, watching the boys with soft, affectionate eyes, “Alright, boys, I’ve given you some time, but it’s dark out. Why don’t you two come inside?”

               “Yeah, sure, Ma!” Sam’s smile never wavers; he gets to his feet, followed shortly by Max, “I was about to ask Max if he wants to play some video games, anyways!”

**Incident 2: Senior Prom Night**

Max pulls his index finger from between his teeth, glancing at whatever scrap of leftover lunch he had pulled from the small gaps, before bringing his hand down to wipe against his chest.

               Only to be stopped by another hand interceding the other’s former path, swatting it away from Max’s off-white pinkish dress, “You are _not_ wiping your grubby hands on the brand new dress _my_ family bought for you.”

               “ _Sam_ ,” Max whines loudly, but his voice fails him when Sam shoots him a glare and shakes his head, “No. Think of what Grandma will react!”

               “She’d have my ass.”

               “She sure would.” Sam hums lightly, his eyes darting to Max and scanning him over briefly, “She’d make a new dress out of your fur! Your ears would make a fantastic bow.”

               The long appendages twitch at Sam’s comment, and Max instinctively brings his hand up, smoothing them against the back of his head, only for them to flick back into their standard upright position. He shoots off, “Make sure you’re the only one who wears my skin-dress, Sam. I don’t trust anyone else to treat my silky white fur any better.”

               “Creepy, but oddly endearing, little pal.” Sam chuckles, drawing his hand away from his neck where he was fixing the collar of his dress shirt, before ruffling the top of Max’s head with his hand. He eyes Max’s dress for a moment, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his black pants, “Okay, so, you’re sure that the school’s gonna let you in wearing a dress?”

               “Ha, they’re absolutely not gonna let me in!” Max cackles, before turning and locking his beady eyes, narrowed with determination, with Sam’s own eyes, “Which is why we’re gonna spy movie this shit!” Max hops down from the step stool he had to use to look into Sam’s bathroom mirror over the counter; he hikes up his frilly dress a bit so he can navigate to the door. Sam quirks his head to the side, one brow lifted up skeptically, “What’s that supposed to mean, buddy?”

               “We’re gonna _sneak_ in.” Max whispers, as if this entire house was bugged by the school and they would cut their mission down before they even got through the door. Sam sniffs incredulously, “How are we supposed to do that?”

               “There’s a window in the boy’s bathroom at the school gym so I can sneak in through there and you can just go through the door with your ticket thing.”

               “Can you even reach the window?” Sam challenges, and Max bats his hand against Sam’s gut in offense, “How _dare_ you! That’s sizist, Sam, you know that!”

               “No, but, really, _can_ you?”

               Max slumps, “No, I was thinking you’d just give me a boost.”

               “You know I will. Now c’mon, Mom wants to take some photos before we go off to prom.”

               “Our _last_ prom ever.” Max comments as he trails after Sam.

***

               The cool April breeze tugs at Max’s ears, and he almost trips over his dress when it blows and wavers in front of him for a moment. Sam presses his hand against Max’s shoulders to make sure he doesn’t trip over his own feet, but Max is far more skilled than Sam gives him credit for, and he carries on with ease.

               “Okay, give me a boost.”

               “Already on it, little buddy.” Sam says as he hunches over, leaning against the wall and cupping his hands together; Max steps into his best friend’s palm and up he goes. Hooking his arms around the opening of the window, Max hauls himself up and through the opening, and straight onto the dingy bathroom floor.

               _Admittedly,_ Max thinks bitterly to himself, face pressed flat against the cold surface, _that landing could’ve gone better._ He peels himself away from the tile and brings himself to his feet, dusting off his dress as he calls up to the open window, “Alright, I’m in! I’ll see you inside.”

               “See you inside!” Sam calls from the other side.

***

               Max finds himself leaning against Sam’s side as the evening starts drawing towards an end, and by the end, slow song after slow song starts pouring for the happy couples. Naturally, Max doesn’t have anyone to dance with – romantically, at least, but he’s got Sam, and frankly, he doesn’t exactly _want_ do dance with anyone else but Sam, either. And, really, he’s not _dancing_ with Sam, but Max finds himself leaning against Sam’s side and swaying lazily to the beat, comfortably snug with Sam’s arm draped languidly around him.

               “You getting tired, little buddy?” Sam hums, and Max perks his ears up, “What? No way! I’m just tryin’ to, you know, enjoy the music. Can’t do that if I’m yelling, Sam.”

               “’Course not.” Sam chuckles, giving Max’s shoulder a light squeeze and offering an endearing eye roll. Max looks up at him with that infamous sneer of his, eyes watching over Sam; the lights glow a dull blues and purples and pinks, illuminating Sam’s fur and giving him his own mixed – color glowing ring. Max snaps his gaze away before he can note how handsome Sam is under all the lights.

Max nudges his elbow against Sam’s side, “C’mon, let’s blow this popsicle stand. I bet we’d have more fun at the hotel room, anyways.”

               “Hey, I’m usually the idea man in this relationship.”

               The word ‘relationship’ stirs something in Max’s stomach that he really hoped wouldn’t pester him tonight. It was just a _joke_.

               They slip out of the gym, and once they near the car, Max sniffs pretentiously, “You know, _I_ should’ve been named prom queen. I would’ve been a better ruler of the student population.” Sam hums in response, “You sure would, little buddy.” There’s a brief pause that Sam quickly breaks, “Hey, you know, I’m pretty sure that three chaperones saw you and didn’t kick you out. Are you sure the school would’ve turn you away at the door for wearing a dress?”

               “No,” Max admits with a casual shrug of his shoulders, “I just really wanted to break into the school.”

               Sam snorts, rolls his eyes, and opens the passenger door for Max to hop in, “You crack me up, little buddy.”

***

               The hotel room is a soft yellow orange color, lit up by the lamps on either side of the twin sized beds. Max is seated on the edge of Sam’s bed, watching some cheesy rom-com as it played over the television, feet swinging idly as the time passes. Sam is sitting next to him, a tired yawn parting his maw, and Max finds himself watching Sam _again_ for the hundredth time this night.  

               _I really want to kiss you sometimes, big guy,_ Max thinks for a moment, before recalling his first attempt back in the eighth grade. Alright. Okay. So maybe he _should_ try again.

               Without saying a word, Max grips Sam’s tie tightly between his fingers and yanks in a downwards motion, aiming to draw Sam’s face down so that he can bring his _own_ face up and they can connect but, you know, at their lips.

               Except that doesn’t happen.

               Because the tie just rips right off.

               _Curse you, cheap clip on ties!_ Max is all but ready to scream in frustration, before his eyes meet Sam, who’s staring at Max like he just poked his tongue out but his tongue was another smaller Max head.

               “ _What_ in the name of mother Earth are you _doing_ , Max? Did my tie do something to offend you or something?” Sam blurt, absolutely bewildered, continuing to stare at Max in that way he hates; Max blinks, before snorting and jerking his hand behind him, haphazardly tossing the tie to the floor of the hotel room, “Yeah, it _existed_. It’s a fashion abomination, Sam.”

               “It’s supposed to match your – .”

               “IT’S A CLIP ON, SAM.”

               “But – .”

               “ANYWAYS I SHOULD BE GOING TO BED GOOD NIGHT BUDDY I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW THANKS FOR THE AWESOME NIGHT.” Max is without a doubt 100% aware that he’s saying that _far_ too loudly but _whatever_. He stands up and literally leaps into his bed, burying his face into the pillow and letting out the most obnoxiously fake snores he can muster.

               He’s so, very thankful that Sam doesn’t actually press on the conversation.

**Incident 3: The Box Incident**

               “Well, Max, years of hard work have paid off. We’ve finally got our own place.” Sam breathes out as he sets down one pile of boxes in the soon-to-be-office room; it’s dusty, it’s old, it’s abandoned, but it’s _theirs_.

               “What hard work?” Max snorts, “We used the money your moms and grandma had been saving for your first place since the day you were born.”

               “Quiet, bonehead, let me revel in the glory of our success.”

               Max sets down the set of boxes he was carrying, before hiking himself up the mountain of boxes and standing on very top, hands on his hips and chest out as he admires the new terrain of his brand new office. Sam’s elbow joins Max’s box pile as Sam leans his weight on his side, while Max just continues to admire the dingy old office.

               “Can you believe we’re here, Max?” Sam comments wistfully, eyeing the surroundings with such heartfelt emotions one would think he was moved to actual tears.  Max watches on fondly, that infamous grin still plastered on his face as he looks around the absolute dump of a place they managed to rent; why Sam sees the absolute world in this shitty old apartment, Max doesn’t get, but Max sees the world in Sam’s eyes right now.

               Wow. That was corny. That was _really_ cheesy. Max makes a noise of thought, thinking to himself that he and Sam are probably perfect cheesy, corny fanfiction material. They’d make a great love story, one hundred percent, and Max likes to consider himself as a gay icon.

               “What does that have to do with anything?” Sam snorts a little, and Max’s sneer widens because haha oops he just said that last part aloud.

               “Well, I am, aren’t I?” Max challenges confidently, and Sam simply brings up his hand to ruffle the fur between Max’s ears, “You sure are, Max. But in all seriousness, are you excited? We’re gonna finally start a business, Max! Hopefully now people will start taking us seriously when we try to stop them in crimes.”

               Max shrugs, “And if they don’t, just ball me up and lob me at them. I’ll gnash them, alright, gnash ‘em real bad. Just like this,” Max pauses and opens and snaps his jaws shut repeatedly, mimicking a gnawing motion. Sam merely laughs again, “You do have the maw of a bear trap, little buddy.”

               “I’ll be the most ferocious weapon we’ve got. Besides these bad boys,” Max pulls his luger out of his – what? You think he’s gonna reveal that secret in some internet fanfiction? Think again, fools – and lifts it into the air, as if flashing it off to an audience that they didn’t have in this barren, dusty office of theirs.

               “You crack me up, little buddy.” Sam utters that phrase _again_ in that warm, heartfelt laughing tone of his, and Max thinks briefly for a minute that if they were a cartoon or a video game or comic or some form of media, that’d be Sam’s catch phrase, probably. Max places his luger back in – still not gonna reveal that secret, stop trying, get on with the story – and places his hands on his hips, admiring the rest of the office fondly with Sam at his side.

               Oh, it’s a wreck, that's for sure. It’s dingy, there’s some rotten wood, and there’s a very noticeable small hole in the wall, and Max thinks that it’s only gonna get _worse_ , but it’s still _theirs_. Max’s eyes wander over to Sam and he can’t help but feel the warm, giddy feeling that blooms in his gut; for a split moment, Max wonders if he’s swallowed butterflies again, but after recalling his lunch, he figures that the feeling is either really bad gas or the undeniable love for his best buddy.

               Maybe it’s both? Probably both.

               _You know_ , A voice in Max’s head begins, a voice that Max fondly refers to as his ‘idea voice’, _you’re standing at head height with Sam, it’d be so easy to just lean over and kiss him. Do it. DO IT._

               “Hey, Sam?” Max begins, cutting through the silence and snagging Sam’s attention; Sam’s head snaps around, facing Max with perked attention, “What’s up, little pal?” Sam leans more weight on his side, and Max _also_ begins to lean, but he puts his weight at an awkward angle on the box and –

               And down he goes.

               Max grunts as he falls forward with the boxes and lands on his face once more, surrounded by a heap of collapsed boxes, and before he knows it, Sam’s lifting him back up to his feet again, “Great frog-lickin’ teenagers without parental supervision, Max! What in the world are you doing?”

               “Destroying our personal belongings before our life long enemies get the chance to, Sam,” Max rebounds as fast as he can, looking up at Sam with that infamous grin of his, “I’d rather take my belongings down with me than let those hooligans get their filthy, crime-sodden hands on _my_ luggage!”

               _And apparently the world would rather take me down before I get the chance to kiss you, just once,_ Max thinks bitterly, though it doesn’t show on his face.

**Incident 4: The Head Butting Incident**

“You know, Sam, you really shouldn’t wear a tie so much. Do you know how easy it would be to just grab that thing, yoink you forward, and straight up slam one’s forehead into your pear-shaped face?” Max acknowledges one day as he trots down the concrete with Sam at his side, a sweet, cold, crisp Generic Brand Soda™ in his hand.

               “Why would someone ever want to head butt me?” Sam shoots back quizzically, folded ears lifting a little with surprise at the implication. Max shrugs lazily, taking a swig from his cold, crisp Generic Brand Soda™, “Why wouldn’t someone ever want to head butt you?”

               “I don’t even know why _you’d_ want to head butt me.” Sam comments, earning a lifted-brow look from Max as he croons, “That’s silly, Sam, you should’ve learned by now! I do it almost every day.”

               “You sure do.” Sam grumbles, and then his _stomach_ grumbles too, as if his stomach was just as bitter over the head butting fiasco. In reality, his stomach is just bitter because it hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and it was well into the afternoon by now.

               “Why don’t we go stop for a little bite to eat, eh, big guy?” Max muses as he looks around the street, swirling his Generic Brand Soda™ can in his hand; he gestures vaguely in the direction, “What about the Snake ‘n’ Bake?”

               “Sure, sounds good to me.”

               Max trots forward for a moment, before pausing and casting a look over his shoulder, “You’re paying this time, Sam!”

               A puff of air leaves Sam’s shiny black nose, “I _always_ pay, Max.”

***

               Neither of them have ever been the cleanest of eaters; Max thinks of this as he lifts his chin up, letting Sam wipe off the remnants of their sloppy, greasy meal from Max’s face. In the early stages of their friendship, Max had always swatted Sam off like a frustrated child, perfectly content with remaining dirty, but as time progressed, Max began to enjoy the kind of attention from Sam.

               That, and Max started becoming more concerned about his appearance; his worry over his beauty wasn’t for his vanity, but for the sake of humanity.

               “You know, you’ve got a little something there.” Max points his index finger to Sam’s tie; his muzzle snaps down immediately, eyes worrying with panic over his precious tie, “What - ?”

               He doesn’t even get to finish, voice breaking off and dissolving into a startled squawk as Max jerks his finger upwards and thwaps Sam straight on the nose. Sam just sighs afterwards, silently cursing himself for falling for such a _dumb_ joke, that Max has pulled _countless of times_.

               “No, but really, you do have something.” Max comments after a moment, and Sam scoffs, “I’m not falling for that trick _twice_ in the same hour.”           

               Max tugs on Sam’s tie, running his thumb over the mustard stain, a glaringly ugly yellow on the dark black and blue striped pattern of Sam’s tie. Sam’s eyes wander, and a soft whine comes out of his mouth.

               “Hey, buddy, don’t worry! It’s not the first tie that’s been _utterly, completely_ destroyed by at least one of us! It’s not half as bad as the one I lit on fire.” Max assures as he continues clutching onto Sam’s tie with one hand; Sam shrugs and nods for a moment, corners of his lips quirking as he considers the history of the fates of his ties, “Or the one you literally ate half of.”

               “I was _hungry_ , Sam.”

               “We were in a fast food joint!”

               Max’s expression darkened dramatically, and he growled out in a gravelly, husky tone, the lowest he could muster, “Not fast enough.”

               When Sam says something, it may or may just goes in one ear and right out the other one, because a different realization just dawns on Max. Here he is, Sam’s tie in his hand, so easily able to be yanked down, so many opportunities at hand.

               It’s just like prom – but instead, this time, Max knows for _sure_ it’s not a clip on tie. Which means this is a _for sure, bullet proof plan_. It can’t fail!

               So Max goes for it – he yanks on the tie, as hard as he can, and Sam grunts as his head goes down; Max, eagerly, stands up on his tiptoes to meet Sam half way, because _fuck_ he’s wanted to do this for years now!

               And maybe Max was a little too eager, because instead of passionately meeting Sam’s lips with his own in a fiery, movie-style kiss that could make directors weep pure tears of amazement at that movie material – _Sam and I are amazing rom-com material_ , Max recalls in that brief split second moment – but instead Max slams his forehead directly into Sam’s forehead. They both jolt backwards with startled groans, their hands flinging up to their own respective foreheads to tenderly clutch the tender area. Max leans too far back and topples out of his chair, landing on the dingy wooden floor with a grunt.

               Sam merely sighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against his forehead, hunched over the table like a wounded animal. They’re both wounded animals, and the _most_ wounded animal at this table is definitely, without a doubt, Max’s poor ego.

               “Holy jumping mice on a set-off mouse trap, Max,” Sam mumbles below his breath after he collects himself, pushing himself to his feet and walking around the table to pluck Max up, who’s still lying on the filthy ground like a stunned turtle, “These pranks of yours are getting kinda out of hand.” He extends his hand, and Max blindly gropes the thin air until his palm connects with Sam, and Sam hauls Max up onto his own two feet once more.

               “The good thing is, you can really pack a wallop with that bulbous head of yours.”

               “Maybe next case we fight, you step back, give _me_ a running start, and I’ll head butt the dastardly fiends into the nether realm.” Max sneers as he begins his escape of the restaurant, followed shortly by Sam.

               They get halfway down the block until Max turns to look at Sam curiously, “Hey, Sam, did you pay the bill?”

               Sam’s hand makes a loud slapping sound as it connects with his forehead, “I _knew_ I was forgetting something!”

**Incident 5: The Jumping Incident**

“I don’t think I can _stand_ to be away from Sam any longer, Sybil!” Max cries out dramatically, draped across Sybil’s desk; Sybil’s brows furrow in frustration as she bends down to collect her pencils, now scattered across the floor with the rest of the average desk items that Max had oh so carelessly kicked off their rightful desk place so that he could lie on it as if he were mortally wounded.

               “He’s been gone for a two hours, Max, he’ll be back any minute. He just wanted to go stop and get some stuff from the store.” Sybil sighs in exasperation, collecting her pencils and dumping them into the pencil holder, now upright after it had been tipped over and slid across the floor. Max only whines in response, extending one hand out to the ceiling as if he were reaching for something, descending from the heavens to gather Max’s wounded soul up, “Two hours too long, Sybil. I don’t think I can handle it. I just might – I just might _die_ from the loneliness.”

               “You can handle five more minutes, Max,” Sybil comments as an off handed remark, distracted by the task of picking up all of her knick-knacks and getting them back on her desk, which Max is _still_ taking up all the space of, “I think we should discuss this whole attachment problem the two of you seem to have.”

               “He’s the light of my life, Sybil! The beat of my heart, the corn to my dog, the – the rolled up joint to my troubled gay student with family issues.”

               “You’re being dramatic.” Sybil observes, setting down her objects on the desk in areas that avoid Max’s occasionally flailing limbs; Max shoots upright like a lightning bolt, ignoring the irritated groan that draws from Sybil’s lips and sinks her shoulders when all of her knick-knacks are sent straight to the floor once more, “You’re being _under_ dramatic, Sybil! I just might die without Sam. What if he never comes back to me? It’s like we’re two star-crossed sweethearts, torn apart by miles and miles of concrete, and - .”

               The door clicks open and Sam’s head pokes in through the doorway, “Hey! There you are, Max. I was wondering where you had scampered off too, little buddy. You weren’t in the office when I got back.”

               “ _Sam_!” Max cries out melodramatically, hopping to his feet, “It’s so good to see you alive after your harrowing journey!”

               “I just went to the store,” Sam trails off, but Max wiggles his haunches a bit and bunches the wiry muscles of his legs as if he’s about to pounce on something, almost cat like, because he’s just so happy to see Sam he could just kiss him. So he leaps.

               And then grossly miscalculates the distance, falling short and landing on his face on the floor beside Sam’s feet. There’s a noise that’s a mix of slight annoyance and vague amusement from Sybil’s direction, and Max feels the comfortable warmth of Sam’s soft hands slipping around his midsection and picking him back up, setting him down on his feet.

               “Are you alright there, pal? How’s your noggin?” Sam fusses, giving Max a once over, before questioning once more, “What were you even trying to do, buddy?”

               “Leap into your arms, of course,” Max explains part of the truth, leaving out the whole “I-wanted-to-kiss-you-like-a-drunk-teenager-playing-spin-the-bottle-at-a-party” thing. Whoops, “I calculated the distance of the jump, but man, Sam, I guess I’m bad at math.”

               “Your grades from our twelve years in school say that for you, Max.” Sam reminisces briefly over their past history in school, before snapping back into the present, “I hope he wasn’t too bad of company for you, Sybil.”

               “No, besides the melodramatic monologues, he was just fine.” Sybil assures, and Sam and Max slip back out of her office and back towards their own apartment.

              

**The Successful Incident: Sam’s Attempt**

The poor building goes out with a bang, at least – and by bang, the not-so-clever narrator means an explosive ball of fire and flinging debris. Sam jumps at the last second, scooping up Max in the crook of one arm and holding him tight against his side, and he, protectively, curls up to perform a clumsy, not so graceful tuck-and-roll.

               “We’ve really got to work on our landings,” Max grunts as he and Sam finally come to a stop on the cold, unforgiving pavement; Max wiggles away from Sam’s grip as Sam props himself up into a sitting position. Max inhales slowly, vaguely aware of a slight burning sensation on his rear and a distinct scent of singed fur.

               “We did it.” Sam’s voice is breathless as he pulls himself to his feet, “We did it. We did it _and_ we made it out alive!” His voice grows louder.

               “Speak for yourself,” Max whines, running his tongue over his fingers before twisting around to pinch his cotton-tail, putting out the small fire that had lit there, “My butt may never be the same.”

               “I thought we were gonna die for sure! But we did it! We made it out alive!” Sam practically hoots and hollers, his fists in the air as he cheers, and Max eyes him incredulously and can’t help thinking about how much of a kid Sam is acting like. There’s something else behind his voice that Max can’t pinpoint.

               “Sam, we’ve made it out alive on every case so far, this ain’t that different.” Max points out nonchalantly, but Sam doesn’t say another thing. Instead, Max squeals out, “ _Uncle, uncle_!” as Sam’s hand tightens around Max’s sensitive ears in a vice-like grip and hoists him up into the air, effectively plucking him up from the ground. Max swings his feet through thin air, suddenly longing for the sense of solid ground beneath his feet, “What’s the big idea -?”

               His shout is cut off when Sam crushes his mouth against Max in a kiss that’s somehow even clumsier than the landing had been. In fact, Max doesn’t even register is as a kiss at first, just freezes up in Sam’s grip as his mind short circuits. When Sam pulls Max away, still holding him up in the air by his poor, poor ears, neither of them say anything still – Max’s brain is reeling, struggling to come to a conclusion over what just happened.

               He should be excited.

               Instead all that loudly comes out is: “What in the _living Hell_ , Sam?”

               Sam drops Max in an instant, seemingly having snapped from his dazed trance, and Max grunts as he lands oh so unpleasantly on his rear end.

               “I’m sorry little buddy! I don’t – I don’t know what came over me! It was just the heat of the moment, Max, I’m sorry, I - !” Sam blubbers out in panic, only to be interrupted by yet another Max screech, “I have been _trying to do that for the past twenty years_!”

               “I know, I know, I’m – wait, what?” Sam freezes up mid sentence, now realizing what Max had said wasn’t at all what he had been expecting, “You’ve been trying to kiss me for the past twenty years?” He echoes Max like Max has just told Sam that the company who makes his favorite fudgsicles has gone bankrupt.

               “Well, I mean, maybe not for the past _twenty_ years, I don’t know the exact number, Sam.” Max pulls himself up to his feet, palms on his back as he rubs his aching figure pitifully, “What do I look like, a calculator?”

               “That’s not what I mean, Max,” Sam begins, “I’m just a bit flabbergasted -,”

               “Don’t say ‘flabbergasted’, Sam.”

               “- That you not only _wanted_ to kiss me, but for the past however many years, _have_ wanted to kiss me.”

               “More than that, Sam!” Max lifts up his hand with his index finger extended, as if he’s come to some great epiphany, “I’ve been _trying_ to kiss you for the past however many years! Multiple times! I can name five incidents right now off the top of my head!” When Sam fails to speak in the set amount of time Max silently gave him, Max continues on, “Like the eighth grade dance, prom, there’s that one time on the boxes when I fell over, another time when I head -,”

               “Great jumping spiders in a circus tent, Max,” Sam’s voice lifts in a light-hearted laugh that is three hundred times brighter than the sun, his hand going up to press flat against his forehead as he continues to laugh, “All this time, we could’ve – this _whole time_ , we’ve just been – just been dodging the bullet! Beating around the bush! This _whole_ time.”

               Max grins sheepishly, “It’s like we’re two emotionally stunted teens, just trapped in the bodies of a middle-aged dog shaped like a friend and an adorably marketable me.” He pauses, leans forward and tucks his hands behind his back, winking up at Sam, “But hey, that means we can spend the _rest_ of the time making up those failed kissing attempts.”

               


End file.
